The Drum Captain
by DRUMLINEpaco
Summary: A trumpet player is traumatized by the drum captain's glare...it could be more than fear, but DJ would never allow it...
1. Eye Contact

The Drum Captain  
ch 1  
  
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[A/N]: Finally I'm writing a band FIC, as in FICTIONAL, without references! *dances* I feel so...accomplished....thank you Kat.  
  
Rating: R for suggestive situations, eventually swearing, and dark themes  
Warnings: yaoi, suicidal thoughts, band madness  
  
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The practice room hallway were dark. It was about four thirty in the afternoon, and band practice was to start at five. DJ was slightly worried about losing track of time, but he was a bit too distracted to think about band right now. He and Michelle had found their way into an empty practice room, and the lights were out. They could hardly see, but that didn't really matter at the time  
  
Michelle pushed DJ against the wall, her kiss blinding DJ from all around him. He tried to push her away, for now was not the time to be doing this, but his body would not respond to his mind's command.  
  
"Michelle...I don't think now is..." DJ struggled to get the words out around Michelle's kiss. "We have...we have band practice...in like fifteen minutes..." Michelle silenced him by covering his mouth completely, and reaching her hand up his shirt. She released his mouth for a moment.  
  
"We've got time."  
  
Just as DJ was feeling persuaded, he heard the sound of a door creaking and the light flipped on. Two bass clarinetists walked in the practice room. "We've got about ten minutes til practice starts," a rather Asian-looking girl said, with a Japanese accent. "We've got time to...WHAT THE HELL?!" she blurted out, eyes opened wide. DJ smacked his forehead.  
  
"Atsuko, I was kind of in the middle of something-" DJ started.  
  
"-I am so reporting you to Mr. G if you are not out of here in 5...4..." Atsuko began counting down, an evil look on her face. DJ and Michelle immediately ran out of the practice room, DJ flattening his hair. He sighed, feeling rather stupid.  
  
"Damn it, I knew that was a bad idea, Michelle," DJ said, reattaching his mouthpiece to the rest of his trumpet. "You've gotta get out there quick...I don't see any snares left in here."  
  
Michelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm going..." she muttered, heading to the other side of the band hall to get her snare drum. Michelle marched centre three, which means she stood in the centre of the snare line of 9, right next to the drum captain. She hated the drum captain. Every girl in the band was obsessed with him. His 'tall, dark, and handsome' look sent every female within range falling head-over-heels in love with him. Michelle personally felt that she was the only exception to this supposed law of physics, and marching next to this Damian did not help matters.  
  
DJ played some scales on his walk from the band hall to the practice field. They practiced on the furthest parking lot from the band hall, which everyone thought was a stupid idea, but then, the school board really didn't care for the Oakland Creek Marching Band. They had never made it to state, and the last time they went to Nationals, they made 33rd place. The band themselves had hardly any pride left at all, which was very unusual for a marching band these days.  
  
Mr. Garcia, the head band director, was already on the podium, overlooking the parking lot. About half the band was there, and that was a lot of people. Oakland Creek High School was an enormous 5A school with nearly 400 people enrolled in the band program. Only 320 of these marched in competition, and the remaining 80 were on prop crew, pit crew, or were miscellaneous helpers that were not required to come to practice.  
  
"Set the block for fundamentals!" boomed Mr. G's voice over the speakers, which had just been set up on the front and back of the field in four places. DJ stood in his set on the far right, for he was a section leader, and the rest of the line was to line up with him. He turned to watch the battery warm up, on the other side of the lot.  
  
The battery drumline was always warming up five or ten minutes before the band was ready for fundamentals, or a breakdown of how to march. The battery instructors considered technique on the drum itself more important than marching fundamentals, and thus, the battery always skipped this. Michelle silently laughed at the band every day, seeing them suffer through that, while she played the same drumline exercises she did every day. DJ made eye contact from across the field and they smiled at each other, if only for a second. DJ then noticed the drum captain.  
  
He wore a white wifebeater that stood out obviously against his tan, almost hispanic-looking skin colour. Although DJ was looking at him from a distance, he felt Damian's eyes burn right through his own, seemingly scarring his soul. DJ suddenly felt cold, and spun around the face forward again.  
  
'That was really friggin' creepy,' he thought to himself. 'I think I'll never look at him again.' He sighed and shrugged it off, putting his trumpet to his lips and warming up by himself, joining the other random horn notes from around him. Practice was to start in less than a minute. DJ tried to concentrate on hitting that high C, but Damian's eyes continued flashing into his mind. Those eyes...those dark brown eyes. Something about Damian had struck DJ right in the heart. He couldn't get his mind off that icy stare...  
  
DJ blasted the high C as loud and long as he could, the trumpet screaming words that only DJ himself could understand.  
  
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[A/N]: Well, first chapter. I do intend to continue this...  
  
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	2. Confrontation

The Drum Captain  
ch 2  
  
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[A/N]: Plot...ready...go....*nothing comes out*....damn.  
  
Rating: R for suggestive situations, eventually swearing, and dark themes  
Warnings: yaoi, suicidal thoughts, band madness  
  
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Michelle silently swore to herself. 'We're stopping after 3 measures! Why did I go on?!' She knew that Sierra was gonna chew her out for that one. She had just done this twice in a row.  
  
Sure enough, Sierra's deep chocolate eyes shifted their glance towards the snare line, and specifically at Michelle.  
  
"The next time someone goes on, ALL of you will do twenty push-ups," she stated coldly. "And thirty for you, Summers," she added on, playing a perfect flam on Michelle's snare drum. Sierra was exactly Michelle's height, and therefore could look her straight in the eye. Sierra Mills was the battary instructor of Oakland Creek. The male representatives of the battery saw her as the sexy, young instructor of age 24, fresh out of college, and stared more at her intense eyes, dark hair, and chest than accomplishing anything at drumline rehearsel. And although she was a new instructor at the school, she already made sure to instill fear in the members of the battery.  
  
"Judging from what I've heard about this drumline," Sierra began a lecture, "and about this band in general, you don't do very well in competition, and your band has the most generic shows and cliché music of any I've ever seen before." Michelle glared at Sierra, but the black-haired instructor didn't notice. Michelle wanted Sierra to shut up and continue the practice. "And going from that," Sierra continued, "our centre three snares don't need to be screwing about and spacing out." She took a deep breath and turned the metronome (affectionately referred to as The Nome) back on. "From the drum break in the opener, and let's see if I can spice it up a bit. Count off, Arleans."  
  
The drum captain's eyes were deadset straight ahead of him. His presence alone motivated the rest of the line to set themselves, eyes forward, looking as pissed off as possible. The deep voice that sent shivers down the flutes' spines counted four duts, followed by the rest of the drumline's counting. As Michelle played, she concentrated on stopping in the right place. She did this not because it would please Sierra, but because she hated it when people looked down on her, and Sierra would chew out, cut down, and intimidate any offender to the traditional drumline discipline, without hesitation.  
  
Michelle played the last downbeat flam of that particular lick, and snapped her drumstick in in unison with everyone else.  
  
***  
  
DJ left band practice in a fury. He hadn't been able to concentrate throughout the entire four-hour practice because of the eye contact he had made with the DC in the first few moments. He couldn't get Damian out of his head, and it was starting to disturb him.  
  
'After all,' he thought, 'I'm not gay.' He sighed as he reached the band hall. He pulled the mouthpiece off his trumpet and opened his trumpet case, placing his Precious (as he referred to it) back in its rightful home. After closing the case and locking it away safely in a band locker, he stood there for a moment, his hand still on the lock. 'Why on earth am I still thinking about him and his eyes? Sure, they're intimidating, but they're not much to think about. His black hair really brings them out and...' he stopped in mid-thought, his own eyes opening wide. Did he just think that? He glanced to his left, only to see the last person he wanted to see, locking his snare drum away. DJ found himself glaring at the center snare drummer. 'Why did you have to just appear in front of me, huh? Why right now? Couldn't you have waited until tomorrow?'  
  
Damian picked up his taped marching sticks up from the ground and placed them in his back pocket. Turning to leave the band hall, he caught DJ's stare, and stared back.  
  
'Oh shit,' DJ's heart started racing. 'Why am I still looking at him?! He's gonna think I'm some kind of freak, just staring at him like that..' he blinked, hoping that Damian would vanish. But no such luck: Damian started walking towards him. 'Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.' DJ's thoughts reiterated. As the tan, dark-haired drum captain approached him, the dirty blonde trumpet player took a step backwards, thinking about escaping the situation, as if it were even dangerous. Moving backwards only caused Damian to move closer to DJ, and soon enough, DJ found himself backed up against the tuba lockers. 'Please don't hurt me,' was all DJ could think. Damian's face was now inches from DJ's. The trumpet player, the younger and smaller of the two, seemed to shrink in the Damian Arleans's wake.  
  
Damian closed his eyes. "Why do you keep staring at me?" his resonant voice spoke softly, so that DJ alone could hear him. "You couldn't break eye contact."  
  
DJ found himself sweating, and his palms were sweaty. Damian was so close to him; it made DJ incredibly uncomfortable and not to mention scared half to death. "I," he started, "I don't know. I'm just..I mean I..I keep spacing out today, that's all." DJ shut his own eyes and leaned against the tuba locker above him, trying to put some distance between Damian and himself.  
  
Damian noticed DJ's incredible dislike of the situation, and stood back up straight, giving the junior section leader some room to breathe. He sighed and opened his eyes again, once again making deadly eye contact. He made a final statement to DJ, before turning around and leaving the band hall for that day.  
  
"I couldn't concentrate all through practice because of you."  
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[A/N]: Oy...maybe I should down the rating. R&R, please, it'll make me happy...and I'll give you Pocky ^-^  
  
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